Anita DeRouen

Today I’m supposed to revisit the 5th post that I made on this blog. This was my 5th post. I was–and still am–interested in how online discourse communities dealt with sensitive issues, and these bingo cards seemed an interesting coping mechanisms for communities grappling with the very real pain that comes in the face of racist, sexist, homophobic, sizist, ableist–the list goes on–speech. The bingo card is a handy meme; easily identifiable in American culture, the card provides a humorous space in which to minimize the impact of hurtful speech by placing it in the most banal context. The user of the card becomes the player of a game, and each painful barb becomes a badge of sorts. 

I should really spend some more time thinking and writing about the Bingo card meme and the use of humor and gaming as a way to deal with contentious online discourse. Perhaps in my free time…

My dear friend Stephanie made this quilt for me years ago. It has moved with me, seeing me through graduate school, marriage, a move, adjusting to a new career, and motherhood. It keeps me warm, comes on picnics, was a perfect playground for baby Mark, and serves as a constant reminder of friendship and love.

Not all those who wander are lost.

–J.R.R. Tolkien

A city dawns fresh and radiant on the horizon. My car, stuffed to bursting with my most prized possessions (computer machinery and needlework), darts forward, leaving behind the long smooth ribbon of interstate for the complex arterial system that is this new city. I’m starting a new me.

If you’re anything like me, you know when it’s time to go. You feel the cycle of change, you know that you are better off uprooting everything and shifting landscapes than continuing to till the same plot of land. Sure, you could do it, keep returning to this narrow strip and replanting, reseeding, rewatering and reharvesting and repeating that same agrarian cycle, but you know that doing so on this plot of land would be like strip mining your soul, so you pack the car and you say your goodbyes and make those promises about coming back. The whole time you know, though, that this new city will provide a plot of land so arable, so utterly and completely fertile that you’ll never come back. 

If you’re anything like me, there’s a moment of dark as you set out, that place where the fear lives deep inside of you. A little kernel of it whispers seductively and you feel so very tired of hoping for more that you think maybe, just maybe, you’ve made a huge mistake, that out there isn’t the hill you want to die on. No, you think, that hill is back there, in the place where you were, that one bit of soil left untilled because you never really had time to explore it and aren’t you a bit old to be chasing after those stories of better acreage elsewhere? After all, you’ve made a good go of it so far on this land, and the brown sparrow on your shoulder twitters that the peacocks you’ve been promised will be hard to find and win over.

If you’re anything like me, you shoot that sparrow a look so hot it bursts into a million tiny flickers of flame that light the way before you. If you’re anything like me, you leave the darkness behind you and embrace the sun to come. You trust in the potential for richer soil and fresher water and a better class of bird. 

The sun is golden warm and rosy fingered and everything you could hope for. The soil is better, richer, and bears so much more fruit that you’ve got no more room for the Old Things of Back There. They go, as Old Things have gone before, to some Goodwill where those who are still sporting brown sparrows may find some use for them. You feel the magnitude of your benevolence. You gild the cage of the brighter bird you’ve earned.

If you’re anything like me, you revel in the richness of this life anew until the sun gets a bit too bright hot. You feel the precise moment when the cracks start to show, when the land stops just short of producing more this time around. You note the bird molting. You grow tired of cleaning feathers from the bottom of the cage.

If you’re anything like me, you know when it’s time to go.

I’m cheating today; I wrote this piece in December 2009. It seemed fitting to the prompt, so it’s here, unedited. 

This morning I’m writing from the couch; I find that I don’t have a designated physical space for my writing so much as a preferred configuration that is fairly portable. I need particular spatial relationships to write–not particular spaces.

It’s morning, so sustenance is breakfast (two slices of normal-sized bread, toasted with peanut butter, a cup of strong coffee); at other times of day, it may be different, but coffee is generally involved. Warmth is provided by a cherished quilt made for me by a dear, dear old friend. The Monkey Tamer is my current mindless knitting project, handy for those moments when I’m struggling to maintain my concentration on some aspect of the project at hand. The distraction is just that–something(s) to take my eyes and mind off of the computer and onto something entirely unrelated. I’m currently exploring a special Cooks’ Illustrated featuring “perfect” versions of comfort foods. I might even try a recipe or two.

All of this surrounds the center, Scrivener running on my not-so-trusty old Gateway laptop. The machine doesn’t matter; I’ve got Scrivener installed on my office computer, my Mac Mini, and this old thing, and my project files are stored in the cloud so that I can access them anywhere. What matters is the software itself. If you’re not familiar with Scrivener and you do this thing called writing, you might want to get acquainted: I find it to provide the perfect spatial relationship for drafting any thing that involves words.

This is the Windows version–the version on the Mac is infinitely sexier–and you can see the general configuration of the screen. To the left is the Binder, providing ready access to all of the elements of my current project–drafts of various components, images, web links, research documents. I’ve got the screen in split mode right now; I wanted to look at my crudely annotated image while I wrote. The split screen is useful for all of the reasons it would be useful to see two items side by side while writing/researching/editing. I can do all sorts of things in this interface, and the interface allows for me to remain inside it, keeping my attention when computing on the writing project at hand. Perfect and portable spatial writing relationship…for me, anyway.

it’s good to see
the structure of things
the shapes-in-relation-to-
other-shapes
that tell us
where
who
what we are

today I see this

pattern or absence
those spots
dripped
like hot acid
on creamy wax

we burn
away your smooth
and see
the space between you
vast and
ripe for
our making

All of Jackson was in Kroger stocking up on provisions for less than an inch of snow tomorrow. I got some bread, so I guess I’m in the spirit. I also got Brie.

There’s an unopened Malbec on the sideboard. We have a gas stove. If I’m going to be snowed in, I’m damn well going to enjoy it!

I’ve been in training…

For the last several years I have joined forces with knitters worldwide to compete in what has now become known as the Ravellenic Games. From the opening ceremony to the close, I diligently work alongside my teammates (I always knit for Team TARDIS) to complete whatever challenge I’ve set for myself. For the London Summer Games in 2012, I knit something like 8 different projects; it was summer, and I was taking a weeklong trip with my mom for part of it which gave me ample time to knit. This time I’ve got to be a bit less ambitious.

This stack of yarn is scheduled to become a blanket–for laps or babies (or babies in laps–I really can’t decide!). It’s knit in easy peasy garter stitch, my favorite bit of knitting for those moments when I just need to unwind or think or remember to breathe.

This stack will be a scarf. I needed to do SOMETHING challenging, and the scarf that I have in mind is a double-knit pattern with a fairly simple repeat, but lots of color interest.

And, yes, I’m interested in the colors, because what isn’t fun is watching athletes travel to compete in their sports knowing that they or their teammates, family members, loved ones, and friends might be in grave danger just for being who they are. I often find myself in a meditative state when I’m knitting. This year, I’ll be actively praying as I work through the colors, praying for peace and understanding, for love.